Harry Potter and the Quidditch Captain
by Love-X-Oliver-Wood
Summary: Harry has a hard time revealing how he feels towards Oliver Wood, who is graduating from Hogwarts. A Harry/Oliver slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Harry Potter and the Quidditch Captain

**Disclaimer: **All characters, places, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **The years Harry and Oliver are in have been altered due to the large gap. You'll see later on when I add on to it why I did so. In the story Oliver and Harry are only one year apart.

**Note 2: **This is my first story so please don't be too mean.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Best Day of the Week**

Waking up in the morning was Harry's greatest weakness. There was nothing worse than being torn away from his sweetest dreams and fantasies by rigid reality. Dazed by the strong rays of sunlight peering through his scarlet four-poster tapestry, he moaned ever so slightly, daring to open his eyes no more than a mere slit. Harry turned slowly towards Ron, who lay asleep in the bed next to his and since he knew that Ron wasn't bothered by waking up, he slowly shifted over to the side of his bed, sheets trailing after him, and shuffled over to Ron's bed.

"Ron," Harry murmured. Dismally, because Ron didn't even move an inch. "Ron, wake up." He made sure to be louder this time, yet still the big mass of skin topped with messy ginger hair didn't respond.

Getting tired (and somewhat jealous) of his friend's endless slumber, Harry decided it the best of ideas to give Ron a nice shove. Regrettably for Ron, this meant an abrupt plunge to the hardwood floors of the Gryffindor boy's dormitory followed by an angry jumble of obscenities.

"Blimey, what did you do that for you git?" Harry heard from behind the bed from which Ron was just launched off of.

"Sun's up already, meaning _we_ can't be late for Quidditch practice, or Wood will have both of us flying laps around the pitch." He turned and walked around his bed, and as the sheets folded themselves, resembling a heap of sheets spinning this way and that, Harry leaned over to fetch a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater. "Uhh, Ron, I'm gonna go head over there first."

There was an awkward pause, and thinking quickly of an excuse, Harry added, "To talk over the new formations for the upcoming game 'gainst Slytherin." At this Ron stuck his head out from behind the bed for the first time and looked at Harry intently. He squinted his eyes at him and amusement accompanied by a sly grin spread over his face like a disease.

"What?" Harry exclaimed, spreading his arms and pretending not to know what Ron was smiling at. "Shut up, will ya?" Someone from across the dormitory moaned in their sleep. Harry shrugged it off, and now Ron finally got up off the floor and walked over to him, his eyes practically slits now. Ron, who was still in his knitted pajamas, walked briskly over to Harry and grabbed his arm, twisting him around, and dragged him across the dormitory and out the door, into the staircase.

"I've been your friend for, what, five years now? You think I can't tell when you're lying?" Ron said, eyeing down Harry to his last hair. "You just don't want me to come because you want to be alone with him, don't you?" Harry looked outside the only glass window in the staircase and had a clear view of the Quidditch pitch. Deciding there was no time to waste on Ron, who was still intent on getting answers, Harry slipped out of his grip and ran the rest of the flight, skipping steps on the way, and flew out of the portrait leading out of the Gryffindor Common room and into the Grand Staircase.

It was oddly vacant in the staircase. It must've been earlier than Harry had thought. Most of the people in the moving portraits were still asleep in their chairs, and some stirred as Harry clamored loudly down the stone steps. Harry saw Professor McGonagall walking out of the second floor corridor, and made to turn the other way so that he wasn't bothered on his journey to the pitch, but it was too late.

"Potter," she said as she turned to walk over to him. "Going to practice, yes? Where is Weasley?"

"Ron's going to be a bit late, professor," Harry replied hastily.

"Going to win this game, right Potter? I believe if Gryffindor wins this game, then we win the Cup as well. That would bring the greatest honor to Gryffindor."

"Yes, professor. Now, if you'll excuse me," And he briskly walked the opposite direction. Once he got to the entrance hall, Harry started running. Enough distractions, he thought to himself. At this rate, he would be lucky if he showed up at all. The entrance hall was eerily calm as well. A few tired looking girls from Hufflepuff stood in a group at the bottom of the steps that led from the staircase to the floor. Making sure to see no one he knew, Harry started his journey across the entrance hall. Because it was so quiet, Harry's footsteps echoed back and forth across the hall as he ran, making the portraits all around the hall awake and give him dismal looks.

Once outside, Harry noticed there wasn't even a soul walking the grounds. He slowed his pace and eventually stopped running. He caught his breath, and a series of thoughts passed through his mind such as what to say to Oliver Wood when he got to the pitch. Harry had been troubled the last few months, not knowing whether to say something to Oliver, who showed little to no interest half the time. He didn't even know what his interests were, besides Quidditch of course, but he wasn't going to talk to him about that.

The grounds were amazing in the morning. There were droplets of dew on every blade of grass, and the Dark Forest in the far distance had a thin layer of mist rolling down from the mountains. The sunrise glistened on the surface of the Black Lake, and emanated on the paned windows of the enormous castle, making it look as if it were glowing. To add to the scenery, there were birds chirping in every direction, and there was a hint of the smell of pine sap spilling out of the forest onto the grounds.

In the short distance he walked, the Quidditch pitch could be seen clearly. To Harry's relief, there was no one flying yet, which meant that no one besides Oliver had arrived (no one dared to show up earlier than absolutely necessary) and he had him all to himself.

As Harry walked into the locker room, the familiar scent of Oliver's cologne sent shivers down his spine, giving him goose bumps all the way from his arms to his toes, including other places that would be better not to discuss. This made Harry suddenly feel embarrassed at being able to be affected by one person. When he told Hermione about his thoughts a few days earlier, she had told him that it was perfectly normal for him to feel that way, but now he wasn't so sure. He also felt extremely guilty for leading Ginny on earlier that year, and then after realizing that being with a girl wasn't the right thing for him, he told her that he could no longer see her. Ginny hadn't taken this as lightly as Harry would have liked her to, and hasn't spoken to Harry since. When Ron found out from Hermione what had happened and gave him the silent treatment for a good month, but he eventually came around.

Walking deeper into the locker room, towards his own locker, a light voice behind him said, "Here already, Harry?"

Harry, surprised by the delicacy of Oliver's voice, turned around quite swiftly, knocking over Oliver's broom that had been beforehand propped up against the locker next to his. Harry bent over to pick it up, red in the face, and was muttering apologies while doing so, trying not to look Wood directly in the eyes.

"You alright, Potter?" Oliver inquired, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yeah! Fine." Harry said, a bit more rapidly than he would have liked.

He finally looked up now, to see his captain not in his Quidditch uniform, but in only boxers and socks. He had never before seen Oliver so scarcely clad, since generally arriving with Ron meant that there were already many people in the lockers, and Oliver had already been in uniform barking orders and briefing the tent of the day's practice routine. This picture—this divine figure—he would've stared at and engulfed himself in it for hours on end. Oliver's arms were beautifully tanned from being in the sun all the time, his body was finely toned. Oh, how Harry would love to run his hands every inch of that body that they could reach.

Oliver must've noticed Harry's wandering eyes, because all too soon, he looked at Harry with a bemused smile and asked, in the most polite voice that he could muster, "Are you—sure you're fine, Harry?"

Harry felt positively stupid. "Yes, I just have a lot on my mind is all."

"Really?"

"Yeah," He replied matter-of-factly, deciding telling Wood what exactly was on his mind at that moment was not only unnecessary but also inadvisable. Since Harry was new to this, he had no idea how to go about it. Instead, Harry turned around back to his own locker, and started tugging his own clothes off, disregarding Wood. He took off his dark blue jeans, followed by his jumper, then his undershirt. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something odd; Oliver hadn't moved from his post at the entrance of the lockers leaning against the wall with his arms crossed coolly and, to add to the fact, he was still staring at Harry. Suddenly he felt extremely self-conscious and quickly slipped on his Quidditch robes and padding while trying to pretend that he didn't notice him there at all.

At that moment, Ron walked in, breaking the silence, and wiping the grin off of Oliver's face. "Hey, all," he said as he walked in, suddenly stopping. "Am I interrupting something?" He added, looking pointedly from Harry to Oliver, then back to Harry again. Harry gave Ron the strongest glare he could. Stupid Ron!

"No, Ronald," Harry said, still looking as angry as he could, and he was quite confident that he looked pretty ferocious.

"Right. Potter, Weasley, I'll want everyone waiting here ready in about," he paused to look at the wall clock hanging on the opposite side of the room, "twenty. Sound good?"

"Yes, sir!" Ron said lightheartedly. Oliver walked out of the exit he was standing next to and Harry waited a good thirty seconds until he could hear his footsteps no more. At that moment he rounded at Ron and yelled, "Ron! What-do-you-think-you're-doing?" Jabbing his finger furiously into his chest in between every word. The immense amounts of rage that were flowing through Harry's mind could not be described in words.

"Blimey! What did _I _do?" Ron asked, an angry yet confused look on his face.

"You might as well have told him 'Oh, hi Oliver, did Harry tell you how much he loved you yet?' You can really be so _thick _sometimes, you know that?"

"Well, sorry! I thought you might have told him yourself already."

"Well, I didn't," Harry said sadly, banging his head into his locker once and shutting his eyes as hardly as he could. What was he to do? "Sorry, Ron," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, you nutter," Ron replied, and jokingly punched Harry in the arm. He turned to his own locker and started taking his robes out as well. Slowly people started coming in through the entrance Oliver had just left through. Harry just sat on one of the benches and stared at the air that his captain had left behind him right before he left. This day was not going at all like it was supposed to.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Trip to the Astronomy Tower**

"Harry, you can't keep doing this to yourself," Hermione comforted Harry, as he sat in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. The fire was emanating a scarlet hue all throughout the room. The wizards and witches in the portraits were all busy with their daily prattle and Neville and Luna sat idly by the chess table by the window playing a friendly game. Other than them, no one else was in the room. Everyone else was either in class or out enjoying the beautiful weather.

Several days had passed since Harry's last confrontation with Oliver. He was still too embarrassed to speak to him at all, so much as to not go to Quidditch practice twice. Instead, he could be found skulking about in his dormitory or somewhere around the castle. His stomach felt heavy every time he thought about Oliver, and he found himself zoning out, imagining the many things he would do with him (and to him) were they on the same page. Hermione continued, with audible worry in her voice, "You sit around all day staring off into the distance and ignoring everything around you. You don't do your work for classes — Harry? Harry! Are you listening to me? Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you."

"I'm listening, Hermione, I just don't know what to do anymore. No matter how hard I try I can't stop thinking about it." There was an awkward pause in the conversation. "It's stupid I know..."

"No. It's not stupid, but it _is_ getting to you, and if it is getting to you so much, then you should do something about it. Think about it Harry, you only have about a month left, then that's it. He's gone. Who knows when you'll see him after that?"

She was right. He didn't have much time left, and if he wanted anything at all to happen between Oliver and himself, then he had to make a move, and fast. Harry had this lingering doubt in his mind that he was bound to get turned down. After all, Oliver was this God of sorts, and Harry was, well, just Harry. "What if he says no? Then that will be the end of everything. He'll never talk to me again, and he'll look at me as a completely different person."

"But what if he doesn't say no, Harry? Then your doubts will be solved then and there, and you _won't _have to feel so down anymore."

Hermione had a point, but it was all up to chance. Harry had no factual evidence that Oliver could possibly be gay, and he didn't want to do anything until he knew there was at least some probability that he was interested.

Harry looked at the wooden clock next to Neville, and saw that it was already half past four. He had wasted over half of his day thinking about _him_, and had little energy to do anything else, so he asked Hermione, "You want to go to the great hall? Have some dinner? Perhaps Ron will be there."

"Yes, if it'll take your mind off things, I suppose that would be best." She started getting her books together from around her and added, "I'll just go and put these up in the girls' dormitory. You stay here," and then ran upstairs.

Once she got back, they nodded to Luna and Neville on their way out, and they nodded back. Once the portrait of the Fat Lady had swung shut behind them, Hermione turned to Harry and asked, casually, "So, do you think Luna and Neville are going to end up together by the end of this year?" For the first time in a while, Harry laughed at this remark. Although it was highly likely, the thought of Luna with Neville seemed a bit comical, or at least Harry thought so. Hermione smiled, and then started laughing as well. As they continued their long flight down the stairs, Hermione continued the conversation. "Well at least Neville's not flirting with _Lavender Brown_. Honestly, I would no less than vomit if I had to so much as think about someone like her on an hourly basis."

"So I take it that you and Ron still aren't talking?" Harry asked casually, already knowing the answer.

"No, _Ronald _and I still aren't talking. He can live happily with her for the rest of his life, for all I care. Besides, I've sort of . . . Never mind . . ."

Harry suddenly stopped. "Sort of what?" Hermione stopped, but didn't turn around to face him, clearly ashamed of something she'd done. "Hermione, sort of what?" Harry repeated, now clearly emphasizing every word. She seemed like she was thinking something over, and then suddenly she turned around.

"I've started talking to Victor Krum again! I know what you're going to say, Harry, but he's really not as bad as you and Ronald make him out to be."

"Oh. Well, I really don't care about him, Hermione. I don't have any problems with him, it was Ron that was making a big fuss when you took him to the Yule Ball fourth year."

"I — suppose," she giggled slightly, "I don't know why I was so secretive about it, really. I should've known you'd understand. You're a really good friend, Harry."

When they finally reached the great hall, Harry stopped, and his stomach came right up to his throat. Who should be there but Oliver Wood sitting with his Quidditch posse laughing up a storm about some joke. The hall was quite crowded, and Harry grabbed Hermione by the wrist and dragged her into a bustling group of Gryffindors heading towards their table. Once out of Oliver's eyesight, he took her to the farthest end of the table, where only a few first years sat quietly eating their dinner.

Realizing he was much hungrier than he thought, Harry dove straight into the roasted chicken, adding mashed potatoes to his plate, and pouring pumpkin juice into his goblet simultaneously. Until now, Hermione didn't realize why Harry was being so discreet. She had suddenly noticed Wood on the other end of the table. "He's looking over here, you know," she informed him, trying not to look too obvious. Harry, doing the same, turned his head ever so slightly, and looked out of the corner of his eye towards his direction. Sure enough, there was Wood staring at him. He started fidgeting, as if contemplating whether or not to talk to Harry, who knew he hadn't been to Quidditch practice in days, and now was not the time in which he wanted to speak of the matter.

He didn't want to take any chances, so Harry told Hermione that he would see her later in the common room, and briskly walked off towards the big wooden doors leading out of the great hall. Not looking back to see if he was being followed, Harry thought of any place where he would not have to deal with anyone. That place turned out to be the Astronomy tower. He didn't even think about it, neither was he planning to head there directly, but somehow he ended up there, taking in the beautiful scene of the castle grounds. It was already sunset, Harry noticed, so he took the opportunity to sit on the stone floor and watch in solace the stunning gold sky. He engulfed himself in the wonderful Spring breeze, and listened as the birds playfully chirped their gentle songs.

Now Harry felt extremely stupid, and guilt bubbled up in him as he thought about Hermione, sitting alone at the table without his company. He felt stupid for, once again, avoiding Wood like a coward. With the match only a week and three days away, he couldn't evade him for much longer. Harry now realized, that he was now in a more uncomfortable position than he would have been if he had shown up to practice as he was supposed to, for now he had to think of an excuse for why he didn't show up to practice for so long. Harry cursed at the air and at the birds; at everything else for being so unimaginably flawless when his life was so lacking and his insides so heavy. He just wished for some normality in his life, with no suffering and no problems. His mind and his eyes both swam in all his heavy burdens. Before he could stop himself, tears glided off his face, hitting the marble floors quite forcefully, as if each drop was a weight that Harry threw off his shoulders.

"Now, that's no way for the Gryffindor seeker to be seen around Hogwarts." It was so sudden that Harry jumped quite dangerously, spinning his head around to see who the anonymous speaker was. This was quite unnecessary, because before even seeing his face, there could be no mistaking the voice of Oliver Wood.


	3. Chapter 3

**The "Almost" Confession**

Harry's tongue was glued to the back of his throat, his mouth ajar. He couldn't find any words to say, not even a sound or a gasp for air. He was sure he looked like the Bloody Baron. His eyes were glued to the face that was imprinted in the back of his eyelids just seconds before, and he was sure his eyes were still closed. What could he possibly do or say, besides panic? He wasn't ready for this at all. This was the worst possible moment. Harry's pulse was now dangerously climbing, and he felt his fingertips getting the slightest bit numb.

Wood walked slowly towards Harry, who was standing near the railing with his back facing the beautiful Hogwarts grounds. However, instead of going directly to Harry, Wood stopped just a few steps away from him, leaning his elbows on the railing and peering into the distance, his eyes glimmering in the now setting sun. Harry thought this was an amazingly fitting sight for this marvelous being. Noticing his mouth was still open and he must look incredibly ridiculous, he closed it and also turned to look at the castle grounds and the Black Lake. The wind seemed to have stopped, and the air around Harry grew thick with discomfort. Before he could even gather his thoughts together, Oliver started, "Can I at least know why you haven't shown up to Quidditch practice in almost a week now?"

His voice didn't sound angry, but the question wasn't as comforting as Harry hoped it would be. Neither was Oliver's voice. Harry looked down at his shoes, then turned his head right to face Oliver's. "I know, I'm sorry. I mean..." Harry realized his mind was still shattered to bits.

"What's wrong? Tell me!"

"Oliver, it's not that simple!" Harry replied, realizing that, to Oliver, he wasn't making any sense and probably sounded incredibly stupid and childish.

"I take it that you're not going to tell me, then?"

Was this it? Was this the moment that Harry would tell him the only thing he'd been wanting to for the last five years of Hogwarts, ever since the first time Oliver taught him the basics of Quidditch first year? Of course not.

"I'm just not ready to talk about it, alright?"

Oliver sighed and looked back at the grounds, taking his eyes off Harry once again. Now Harry just wanted to die; bury himself in a hole ten feet under the ground. His heart was sinking deeper and deeper, starting from his throat and ending up in his gut. He was going to cry again, he could feel it.

"I'll see you at practice tomorrow, Potter," Oliver said, with a businessman-like tone in his voice. It was a declaration, not a question, and with that being said, Oliver turned around and started walking back to the stairs leading from the astronomy tower. Harry's eyes swam again. Like in most conversations he had had with Oliver, he thought of a million ways that this one could have gone differently. All that was left in Oliver's wake was the birds' songs and the whistling of the breeze once again. As sure as Harry was that he was going to cry, he did. He shook his head repeatedly, and had to take his glasses off several times to wipe them of his tears. Eventually he took them off, knowing it was quite pointless to keep performing the same routine over and over again. It was starting to get dark and chilly now, but it wouldn't be for another two hours before Harry decided to walk back dismally to the Gryffindor common room.

Waiting there was Hermione by the fireplace, who seemed to have had some idea of what went on in the last few hours. She quickly shot up and ran to Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck. "What happened, Harry?" she exclaimed, "Wood stormed in here about an hour ago, kicking over that garbage bin on the way upstairs! Did you tell him? Please tell me, Harry, I was worried sick! I had asked Nearly Headless Nick to go look for you, but he kept coming back without a clue as to where you were!"

Surely enough, there was the bin toppled over, with the garbage still spilt beside it. No one seemed to have moved it since the incident occurred, oddly enough. Harry took the liberty and pulled the wand who's handle was sticking out of his pocket. With a quick flick of his wrist the litter poured back into the bin and it stood upright again. He stared at it for some time, with a look on his face that made Hermione unable to watch any longer. Such sadness she never had witnessed in her life, besides perhaps when it had to deal with Harry's dead parents. "Harry..." she tried to muster up the courage to say any words of comfort, but she knew herself that they would be in vain.

Harry sat down on the floor, leaning his back on the couch in front of the fireplace, and Hermione took a seat behind him on the couch. He noticed her books were all in a neat pile on the far side of the couch, meaning she must have been sincerely worried, if she could not even focus on her studying.

"I didn't tell him, Hermione. I just blew it off again." Harry started. He then continued on to tell her the rest of the brief encounter he and Oliver had shared on the astronomy tower.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed once he was finished. She put a reassuring hand on Harry's back. Harry stared at the fireplace, realizing he did this quite often recently. He gave off a short, muffled chuckle when he thought of how pathetic the "Boy Who Lived" must look right now, being slowly destroyed from what seemed like a futile crush to some. To him this was no crush. Harry had crushes before, like when he secretly followed around Viktor Krum during the Triwizard tournament or the countless Quidditch players from the magazines he read (or rather stared at) which were hidden under Ron's bed. Hermione looked curiously at this troubled boy.

Harry didn't realize until now that the radio was playing muffled tunes by the Weird Sisters. He strained to hear what the song was, and heard pieces of "Magic Works," the song which played during the Yule Ball of Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts. He remembered how, even then, when he saw Oliver Wood dancing with his date, Katie Bell, the Gryffindor chaser, he felt anger and jealousy raging inside him. He reminisced the first day Wood began teaching him the basics of Quidditch and how the butterflies in his stomach began flittering around for the first time in what was a miserable life; all of the practices and the games, when things were simple (or, at least, less complicated than they were now). As the song continued, Hermione could tell Harry was too immersed in his thoughts to have a conversation at the moment. She slid down onto the floor next to him and leaned her head onto his shoulder instead.


End file.
